Cat Among the Pigeons
by Clorinda
Summary: A Marauder's revenge. Don't worry— no is going to be left out. Absolutely no one. Dark fic, with a twist in the tale, of betrayal and revenge of the worst kind. After all, blood is thicker than water...


**Cat Among the Pigeons**

**By** Clorinda

**Rated**: PG

**Category**: Drama

**Summary**: A Marauder's revenge. Don't worry— no is going to be left out. Absolutely _no_ one. Dark fic, with a twist in the tale, of betrayal and revenge of the worst kind. After all, blood _is_ thicker than water...

**Author's** **Note**: I've checked here and there, and I don't think there are any other fics in the league. Yay! I did a first! — I think. :dances around her maypole anyway: And they're all in different Houses, since it didn't specify in the books. We all just assumed they were sorted into Gryffindor. Just in case, I'd like to declare this fic as slightly AU.

This has been lifted directly from the canon, and is a character study of the Marauders to an extent too.

* * *

_A friend is nothing but a known enemy_.

**Kurt Cobain**

* * *

Do you know my friends? Do you know me? Who I really am? 

My friends I were the Marauders, infamous pranksters, and the four self-proclaimed gods of Hogwarts, School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

**

* * *

**

**By Order of Professor Dumbledore, **

MOST WANTED 

**Remus Lupin**, alias **Moony**. **Ravenclaw** Prefect who later became Head Boy. Quiet, studious, heading his class. Strong sense of humour, never refrains from pulling a prank.

**Peter** **Pettigrew**, alias **Wormtail**. Reputed **Hufflepuff** loser, no accomplishments to his credit. Very clumsy, a no-good bum.

**Sirius Black**, alias **Padfoot**. Easily the most notorious and rebellious **Slytherin**. Extremely good-looking, athletic (being a Quidditch Beater certainly has done him justice), perpetual humour, flippant attitude, permanent and fully utilised gift of making people laugh in the darkest hours and at the most boring subjects.

**James** **Potter**, alias **Prongs**. **Gryffindor** daring most prominent in him. (Though, his ample courage should not be confused with lack of rationality when he publicly and continuously hexes Slytherin Prefect Severus Snape)

* * *

But people like them weren't allowed to live. All of them a disgrace to the purity of their ancestral magic. Blood-traitors to the core, especially Potter. Didn't they ever attempt to comprehend how hard their families struggled to remain pure? 

Lupin going off to study werewolves and getting bitten by one in return; Potter socialising with a filthy Mudblood; Pettigrew having the audacity to court a Muggle— it grew more ridiculous by the second.

And what's more? I was falling with them too. I was falling for Lily Evans.

Oh, _now_ I can snort contemptuously at the utterance of her name— the child of filth.

But I couldn't forget her. I couldn't forget those eyes of hers. Couldn't forget the way her hair swishes with her every movement, looking like it's made of fire. Couldn't forget the way her lips formed my name.

I don't want to forget her.

She's so horribly beautiful. So repulsively compassionate. So hatefully angelic.

And soon I wasn't left with any option but to love her. I kept telling myself that I was a Black, one of the purest wizarding clans. I had honour to uphold. But even then, I couldn't shake myself free of that stupid girl.

It was obvious she liked me back. My friends used to egg me on, even James, although a bit half-heartedly. Andromeda used to we looked perfect together.

Did she have no pride? Stupid woman, growing up to marry a Mudblood. What in Merlin's name gave her the idea I wanted to be like her?

The whole thing was utterly ridiculous, anyway. I myself have to wonder why I made friends with Potter, Lupin and Pettigrew in the first place. But thinking back now, I have to admit I didn't hate them all that much from the start.

Strangely, I didn't hate them at all. I sort of _liked_ hanging around them even, no matter how unnatural it was. They were like my brothers, far better than Regulus, and I must admit, my time at Hogwarts was the best of my life.

Because when I graduated, I lost the Marauders.

It didn't have anything to do with our jobs and priorities, but our choices. It was all because James married Evans.

I still can't figure out why I was so pestered about it. She was a Mudblood, so why would I want to be near her at all? It was by mere fluke that she possessed magical powers, being born in a family full of Muggles, idiots who have somehow managed to live their lives without magic. Evans was the dirt Severus Snape couldn't wash out of his hair.

But I could not stand to see her as a Potter was because of what she did. Sure, the Potters were respectable purebloods with an incomprehensible toleration for witches and wizards with mixed and tainted blood. But I couldn't imagine as to _how_ Evans could go off with Potter when I loved her.

I suppose it attacked my pride.

I think I went berserk.

There she went, another addition to my list of PEOPLE I ABSOLUTELY CAN NOT STAND. At first, I could not tolerate Evans, but now I hated her.

It was ridiculous, and I had to do something about it.

I worked out my strategy very carefully, going bit by bit. I calculated the odds and evens, the percentages of the risks and of unpredictability. I prepared myself for all that may go haywire, and a counter-attack for those too.

It was uncannily perfect.

The forests of Albania were always a favourite refuge for Voldemort, and the predictable bugger went to hide there every time he was weakened or needed more followers. I found him there, and proposed a deal: I give him the Potters, and in return, my Death Eater cousins and their friends will do a little charade with me. (Of course, I had to put my argument forward more articulately, with a lot more of flattery and lot less of yawning.)

He agreed with nothing to lose, and Bellatrix and Lucius were only happy to comply.

The next step of my plan was to go to James. After long hours of explaining, I convinced him to make Pettigrew the Secret Keeper. Voldemort would figure out I knew the Potters' location, but Peter would be "an unexpected twist in that old bat's nicely worked out scheme".

He fell for it hook, line and sinker.

Admittedly, it felt bad to trick my utterly naïve best friend like that. But the sight of Evans smiling and saying, " If it weren't for you Sirius, I have no idea where James and I would be. Harry might be dead by this time. We owe you our lives," rather enforced my hatred.

Of _course_, they owed me their lives.

I volunteered to tell Peter about it.

That night I found him at his house. He was happy to see me, and he offered me some wine that his Muggle girlfriend brought. I agreed.

The second he disappeared into the kitchen, I killed the Muggle. She didn't utter a scream.

Pettigrew returned with a glass of filled with liquid. Seeing the girl's still form on the couch, he thought she was asleep. I reached out for the glass. There was a split second when our eyes met. That was enough.

My wand was aimed at him, and the curse left my lips. It was the strongest Imperius Curse any one could cast, everlasting and unbreakable. (Remember the Dark wizards who brought me up in their home?)

Petteigrew was my slave.

October 31, 1980 night came and went, but it kept me on the edge of my seat, trying to imagine the look on Evans's pretty little face when Voldemort showed up on her doorstep, looking like the Grim Reaper and swinging a Jack o' Lantern, with a "Happy Halloween!"

The news was slightly unexpected, but reasonable and well taken care of, that Evans's sacrifice was the key to Voldemort's defeat.

The next morning all I had to do was chase a Peter Pettigrew down a street of Muggles, yell a lot of "Damn you!" and "Lily and James trusted you with their LIVES!" and make Pettigrew transform under the Imperius curse while I blasted dead the onlookers.

I allowed myself to be hauled into Azkaban, and Lucius Malfoy helped my escape.

You see, it was necessary to be jailed and break out. When I would meet my godson, Lupin, Dumbledore and all those other necessary people, they would think my escape would be because I had to protect my godson from the clutches of the sons evil like Peter Pettigrew— as I love to put it so melodramatically. That would enforce my "good intentions, innocence and misunderstood plight."

It went so well. Everyone believed me. Even Dumbledore.

There's an old magical trick, passed down by the Black ancestors, through which you can look into someone's eyes and tell if that person is lying or not. It can penetrate through Occulemency, so Legimency isn't an appropriate thing to call it. Besides, it's more of an intangible Vertiaserum than mind reading.

So I could tell everyone bought my story.

Disgusting as it is, I had to drink Pettigrew's essence to Polyjuice myself as him on the night Voldemort was revived, and pretend to be the whining Death Eater role I told everyone he played. Perhaps Pettigrew's occupation was the real defect of my flawless plan.

But you must be wondering why I chose to target my precious godson. And my motive is quite self-explanatory— at least, to me it is.

Because he is Evans's child.

Sometimes when I look at him, I see James reflected in his face. I see James grinning back at me through my godson. But then I see Lily's eyes staring up at me. Half-blooded filth.

I doubt if there's a soul on earth who knows the boy's full name: Harry Sirius James Potter. And I'm highly gratified when my name's kept out of it.

The day at the Department of Mysteries, when Bellatrix hit me with a spell, (thank Heavens nobody heard the incantation and figured out it was a dud) I clearly remember Harry and Remus as I fell through that tattered veil.

That took care of the last step of my revenge.

You may have noticed I sold out the Potters, used Pettigrew to my heart's content and more, _and_ tortured my godson to no end.

But never did I lay a finger on Remus.

The loss of his best friends, knowledge that one of his old mates is a traitor and still living, Snape's jeers, _and_ the werewolf transformation— these were already taking their toll on him. His shoulders aren't built to carry such a heavy burden, and I've added enough.

Even I, the reckless Slytherin Marauder, know when to draw the line.

He doesn't deserve it, not even if he's a filthy half-breed.

* * *

And that, dear readers, is the story of my life. I'm currently at the Malfoy Manor, enjoying Narcissa's company by the fire. Bellatrix is here too. _This_ is family. I'm truly home. 

Cissa laughs, as Bella recounts what happened in the Department of Mysteries. The pain of the Cruciatus Curse has stiffened her limbs slightly. But like Lucius, she is used to it and she is immune.

Lucius, with the help of Bella, even re-enacts the scene. My family's portraits, which have been brought into my new home, shriek with glee at the sight. Ah, my poor ears.

Remember, you should always choose your friends carefully. You can have no idea how they might change you.

Take my instance. The reluctant love for a girl who is far beneath me, led me to tear apart the lives of my childhood friends and godson. All because of a single girl's choices.

You probably have one question to ask me: Do I regret any of it?

_Me?_

_I_ have a question to ask _you_.

What is regret?

**—- End -— **

**Author's Note**: Please review, and tell me whether this whole idea is possible or not, please?


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